


[Redacted]

by MadHatter13



Category: The Memoirs of Lady Trent - Marie Brennan
Genre: Coming Out, Gay Thomas Wilker, Gen, Isabella wingmans badly, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, No Period Typical Homophobia, because this is fantasy and i do what i want, or little to none
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:09:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23332891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadHatter13/pseuds/MadHatter13
Summary: From the personal diaries of Isabella, Lady Trent:"During the assembling and publication of my memoirs, many things did not make it to print, or even into the editor‘s office. This was either because they were not relevant, or only a minor detail in the overall account, or because the laundry to air was not mine."A series of histories and events not fit to be published in the finished memoir manuscripts - at least, unfit according to the tastes of the only recently industrialized Scirling society.
Relationships: Isabella (Lady Trent) & Thomas Wilker, Isabella/Suhail (mentioned), Thomas Wilker/Original Male Character
Comments: 16
Kudos: 25





	[Redacted]

**Author's Note:**

> From the personal diaries of Isabella, Lady Trent:
> 
> "During the assembling and publication of my memoirs, many things did not make it to print, or even into the editor‘s office. This was either because they were not relevant, or only a minor detail in the overall account, or because the laundry to air was not mine.
> 
> Nevertheless, information like it still survives, often in letters between friends, or in my own diary entries. I always kept two copies; elaborations on my field notes and ongoing research, and one less relevant to my professional life. However, I do not mind for such information to be passed on to future generations and, in the case of other parties, have retained information so that it can be made public ten years after my death, and/or those other involved, for the sake of historic interest. I have myself observed how the history of notable figures merely a couple of generations before me has become heavily sanitized post mortem. It is something that I do not particularly fancy for myself. I am, after all, so much more used to being a scandal in the making. By that time, it will surely have ceased to ruffle feathers, or even be considered very interesting by most. Hence, the following accounts will delve into certain details of everyday life (with permission from certain parties) that were originally redacted from the official manuscripts of my memoirs."

I have both written and extensively discussed how the frequent pressure to have me remarry raked on my nerves after the passing of my first husband. However, I did not go into how I was not the only one to face such pressures.

I am not speaking of my friend Natalie, whose own feelings on the matter eventually became clear to all those around her, but of my oldest friend and ally, Thomas Wilker. Even before the publication of my memoirs was finished, some of my readers noted in their letters to me that Tom remained conspicuously unmarried, not unlike my own self. Some took this to mean that he carried a torch for me, even after my marriage to Suhail. Nothing could be further from the truth.

The first notion I had of this was shortly after we returned from our voyage around the world. With both our improved financial statuses, my mother had become invigorated in her efforts to make a respectable lady of me. This was of course doomed to fail like all her other attempts, but she was not a woman to give up on a lost cause. Furthermore, she had indicated to me in a way that was supposedly not at all insulting that “even” one of my gentleman friends from the Flying University “might do.”

Out of disgust (with her rudeness, rather than with those gentlemen) I threw the letter in the fire. This caused Tom to raise an eyebrow at me from where he was reading the afternoon paper, sitting in an armchair in my study that had long ago become his in all but name.

‘Bad news?’ He hazarded.

‘Just the usual. You know, no matter what I accomplish in my career, I suspect that to some it will never measure up to the ideal of being married with an _ideal_ family life.’

He huffed, and turned back to the paper. ‘Don‘t I know it.’

This received a raised eyebrow on my part. He had previously expressed his sympathy but had not indicated he had the same problem. ‘Your mother is hankering for grandchildren?’ I knew by then that his relationship with his parents had been rather strained since his choice of career, although they seemed to have made amends in the years since.

‘Rather more my father,’ he said. ‘Since it has become socially polite lately to consider me a “gentleman”, people seem to think I should acquire a wife to provide for, and to provide _me_ with heirs.’

He sounded less than thrilled.

I had not even considered this before. At the time it was still not uncommon for men of elevated social status to pursue a career for several years before they married. They would then often wed women – girls, really – up to twenty years their junior. I could not quite visualize Tom doing so, but nevertheless asked, ‘You don‘t want to get married?’

His pause was a second too long. ‘Not particularly.’

We abandoned the conversation in favour of discussing a common acquaintance‘s recent publication, but for some reason it stayed with me. I was, after all, notorious for not noticing the personal affairs of those around me. On one memorable occasion not realizing that two of my colleagues from the Flying University had gotten engaged until they handed me the wedding invites five months later.

* * *

The issue was revisited sooner than either of us expected – at a party we jointly attended at Lord Edfern‘s estate. He was an old friend of Lord Hilford‘s; an armchair scholar with a rather enormous network of friends. Everyone in the academic community seemed to be there, even the many and usually excluded ladies, as Lord Edfern thought men exclusively made for dull company. Natalie and Miriam Farnsworth were in the corner by the drinks table discussing some mad plan to build and publically test a glider, and I was listening with one ear. The wine was pretty good, for the occasion, although I fear that it was entirely wasted on what friends and family have called my “disaster of a palate.”

Therefore I did not notice Tom freeze up next to me until a voice boomed from across the room, ‘Wilker! Who would have expected running into you here!’ And a man taller and broader than most I had ever seen in my life materialized in front of us and slapped Tom on the back so hard that he bit his own tongue.

‘William,’ he managed to choke out.

‘“William”!’ The man chortled. ‘I tell him for _years_ to call me Bill, but does he ever unbend enough to actually do so?’

‘Bill.’ Said Tom sharply. ‘I didn‘t expect to see you here.’

‘Oh you know how it is,’ boomed William. ‘When you‘re in town on errand you like to find out where the real fun is before you leave.’ He scanned the crowd and gestured with a huge hand that dwarfed his wine glass and added, ‘Although this lot look like they could use some shaking up.’ His hair and beard were red, and seemed utterly resistant to being tamed, but it went quite well with his mountain man-like persona.

‘If you spike the punch bowl, I‘m walking over there to the Minister of Justice and telling him to arrest you,’ said Tom in the flat tones of someone who fully believed in the possibility.

William threw his head back and laughed, drawing stares from several bystanders, including Natalie. He took no notice, but his attention landed on me for the first time, and his brow rose. ‘Got yerself a wife, Wilker? I‘ll be damned.’

_‘No!_ ’ We both chorused in equally put-out tones. I usually appreciate people who are straightforward, but the man was starting to get on my nerves, not least because of how uncomfortable he made Tom. Summoning all my sardonic haughtiness, I extended a hand. ‘Dame Isabella Camherst, natural historian,’ I said.

To my surprise, he shook my hand as I had hoped. ‘The one who sailed with Wilker on the Basilisk! I read your articles in the _Inquirer_ – great stuff!’ He grinned toothily, and reminded me just then of Aekinatos. ‘Especially the dragon-riding parts.’

‘Doctor Carpenter is a medical practitioner in Niddey,’ said Tom. ‘We, er, met at university.’

The Doctor bit surprised me. The man looked more like a game-keeper than a medical professional, albeit a well-dressed one. But then again, something similar could probably be said about me or Tom.

‘You would not believe how much it took to get this one to unwind,’ said Dr. Carpenter, leaning towards me conspiratorially. ‘Hardest worker in the whole damn college, it used to drive the lecturers around the bend. One time though, during anatomy lesson –‘

Tom‘s frequently red face was quite familiar to me. As someone who had known him so long, I‘d had many chances to observe it in the wild, as it were. This one seemed to work itself up from the toes in a classic “embarrassment” pattern, but with some shades which I did not recognize.

‘If you‘re quite done having your fun – ‘ he began stiffly. His entire manner then reminded me of how he had been when we first met, and we both liked to believe the worst of each other.

‘Oh, I don‘t mean a word, you know that,’ said Dr. Carpenter, said, smiling. ‘But I mustn‘t trespass further on your time, I actually meant to meet a friend for dinner in town later.’

‘A friend?’ Tom asked.

Dr. Carpenter‘s smile remained. ‘A friend. It was good to see you again, Tom – don‘t be a stranger, you hear?’ And then he disappeared back into the crowd.

‘What a peculiar man,’ I said, before turning to Tom, whose colour had drained away. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Please excuse me,’ he muttered, and disappeared through the nearest balcony door.

I was left behind, baffled in the extreme. I noticed Natalie attempting to catch my eye, and when she succeeded, she gestured for me to follow him, with many emphatic facial expressions.

I did, finding him leaning against the railing of the balcony and looking harried. ‘ _Are_ you alright?’ I asked again.

His mouth twitched into a smile. ‘Not particularly.’

‘Let‘s go home early,’ I said. ‘As parties go, this one is fairly boring.’

We did, but did not speak much on the coach. And instead of driving him to his lodgings (even after our work brought him a rather more decent salary, he still lived well within his means) I took us both to my house. I had a feeling he needed to talk, but Tom had never been one to parade his private thoughts in front of an audience.

So I had the butler bring us some whiskey to the study, and sat down in the armchair across from his. ‘So, what was all that about? And how come I never heard about Dr. Carpenter from you? You have mentioned a fair few of peers from university to me.’ And some in thoroughly derogatory terms, too, up to and including “should never have been allowed to pass the bar exam” and “would rather chew my own leg off than have him amputate it.”

‘Mm.’ He took a sip of his whiskey.

‘He seemed to know you fairly well.’

‘Oh, thank you,’ he said dryly. ‘I‘m uptight and humourless, am I?’

The former, not so much anymore, and I had found out soon after the beginning of our friendship that he had a sneaky sense of humour I quite appreciated. ‘He didn‘t say that,’ I said. ‘If anything, it sounded to me like he was complimenting you.’

‘He‘s always been good at riling me up,’ Tom admitted. ‘From the first time we met, really, he would try to get under my skin.’

‘You were close, back then?’

Tom blinked. ‘I guess you could say that.’

‘Why did you lose touch? Did you fall out?’

He grimaced. ‘Not in so many words.’

‘Tom,’ I said, trying to be patient. ‘I just saw that man exasperate you like no-one I have ever known, except perhaps myself. I‘m just trying to understand why.’

Tom muttered something about “Nosy, meddling scientists” (I can only presume that description included himself) and said, ‘Fine, yes, we were very close.’

‘But now you don‘t get along. Or at least, _you_ don‘t get along with _him_.’

Tom‘s face tightened. ‘Whether he meant to or not, he was rubbing in my face just how well he is doing in my absence.’

I stared at him. ‘What do _you_ care? You‘re part of the Royal Society, you have discovered things no-one else has – hell, you have traveled the world! What does he have that you do not?’

‘A functional romantic relationship, apparently’ said Tom dryly, draining his glass.

I blinked. ‘I thought you did not want to get married?’

He stared at me in exasperation, trying to find the right words. Eventually he opted for blank-faced honesty, which has always worked best on me.

‘Isabella, William and I were lovers.’

‘Oh.’ I stared back, and also at some internal slide-show of my own. Our previous conversations - or lack thereof - on his private life, surfaced in my mind, along with his history of complete disinterest in women in anything but the platonic sense. The slide-show finished on a receipt to my own unobservant self. ‘I‘m really rather dense, aren‘t I?’

He did not answer, but his face said, “You really are, sometimes.”

‘You did not mean that you did not _want_ to get married,’ I said. ‘You meant that it is not an option for you.’

‘More or less,’ he poured himself another whiskey.

A thought surfaced. ‘Thank you. For telling me, I mean.’ It was not without risk. Although the Synedrion did not officially have an opinion on the matter, as it was not mentioned in the holy books, there were still some sects that did not approve, including the one in Niddey. It could be detrimental to his career, if made public, even though there was no law against it (as was the case in some other countries).

‘Even if I thought you would disapprove, you wouldn‘t really have a leg to stand on, after everything that happened in Keonga.’ He shrugged. ‘Although I supposed I hoped you would just... Figure it out so that I would not have to bring it up.”

‘Sorry.’

‘It’s fine. I shouldn’t expect you to read minds.’

I took a drink to cover my own embarrassment. ‘But you said you did not fall out.’

‘No, I...’ He stared into the fire. ‘I broke it off when I left to work for Lord Hilford, rest his soul. I didn’t want to have him wait around for me when I might never return. It was almost infuriatingly amiable. But I regretted it for a long time. I thought I should have tried to keep it going, or even that I should never have left. I don‘t regret it now,’ he said, catching my eye. ‘Not one moment. But I was very happy then, with him. Even if he drove me up the damn wall.’ He snorted. ‘And now it seems he‘s doing just fine without me. And I can‘t even be properly mad at him for it, because I ended it.’

‘I have to admit I don‘t have a frame of reference for that one,’ I said. ‘But it sounds distressing all the same.’ I paused. ‘Do you want to... Do anything about it?’

He shrugged. ‘What _could_ I do? He seems happy. I, for all my complaining, am at the top of my career. In all other aspects, my life is better than I could ever have hoped. The best thing I could do is move on.’

I finished his thought for him. ‘But knowing that does not make it any easier in practice.’

‘Yes.’ He grinned. ‘You know, you say you can‘t relate, but I seem to remember a certain archaeologist-‘

‘Oh, _God_.’ I buried my face in my hands.

‘Oh, you thought you were being subtle?’ He smirked at my expense.

‘Don‘t try to change the subject,’ I scolded him. ‘Besides, it‘s not as if I will ever see him again, and –‘ I gave up, and went to pour myself another drink.

‘Let sleeping dragons lie,’ he said. And so we did.

* * *

But to my surprise, the matter did not end there. True, it took some time to resume, but only three months later, I was surprised in the stacks of the Royal Lending Library by a booming voice that took me a moment to recognize.

‘Dame Isabella! What a surprise to find you here!’

I startled, and almost dropped the book I was holding onto my foot (which would likely have resulted in injury, since it was Arnaraaq Rasmusen‘s Compendium of Arctic Wildlife, vol. III).

‘Doctor Carpenter,’ I said, turning to face him. ‘I thought you had returned to Niddey.’

‘Oh, you know how it is, us professionals never stay in one place long enough to cool our heels.’ He said all of this at a volume that was absolutely unacceptable in a library. The other patrons were starting to give him nasty looks, and the librarian herself cleared her throat in no uncertain manner. To his credit he noticed, and bowed closer to me to say, in some approximation of a whisper, ‘Perhaps we could take this conversation elsewhere?’

I did not much like the idea of voluntarily spending more time with him – everything about his was “too”. Too loud, too big, too expressive. But I also did not want to antagonize the librarian, who had made much of my previous research all the easier, and so we walked outside, to a nearby bridge overlooking the river.

To his credit, he did not mince words. ‘How is Tom?’ He asked.

_Ask him yourself_ , was what I wanted to say, but I swallowed my gut instinct. I had no real reason to be antagonistic towards him, for he had not meant Tom any harm. ‘Quite well,’ I said. ‘He was recently offered a very illustrious research post with the army, but it fell through over some practical considerations.’ Namely, the _im_ practical expectations they had of leaving me out of the equation.

‘Good, that‘s... Good.’ He leaned against the rail, and lapsed into silence, seemingly lost in thought.

‘Dr. Carpenter,’ I said. ‘Is there anything in particular that you wish to discuss? Because if not I would prefer to get back to my work.’ It was rude of me, I know, but his personality tended to rub me the wrong way, back then, and I had been excited that morning to get to my research.

His eyes, remarkably sharp in a face that was usually irreverent, fell on me, and he said plainly what most people dared only to imply. ‘Lot of rumours, about you and him.’

I rolled my eyes. This again. ‘Yes, there are a great many rumours about us, such as the one where I supposedly married a Puian chief to steal his secret stash of dragon eggs, or the one of _him_ being part of a secret cult that worships Draconeans. The only thing these rumours have in common is that they are all equally absurd.’

‘No smoke without fire, is all,’ he said.

My scowl deepened. I was not just going to stand there and take this. ‘I am sure you yourself have _friends_ , or if you do not are at least familiar with the concept? Otherwise, I imagine the truth of the matter will be entirely foreign to you.’ I turned to leave, but he held up his hands to pacify me.

‘Please wait! I did not mean to insult you – truly it is not any of my business, I just – I wanted to know if he was happy.

He looked so crestfallen that I felt sympathy for him, against my better judgement. After all, I had found myself wondering the same thing for the last two years, regarding a certain person.

‘He is,’ I said. ‘However, I believe you know full well why any involvement I have in that happiness is entirely platonic.’

His enormous eyebrows shot up his forehead when he caught my meaning, but I returned it with a placating look.

He looked out over the river again. ‘He told you, huh?’

‘The summary, at best,’ I said. ‘Tom is my dearest friend. We have known each other far too long to beat around the bush.’ That was leaving out the fact that he only told me this particular tidbit a mere quarter-year ago, but Dr. Carpenter didn‘t need to know that. ‘Not that it‘s any of my business, but we were under the assumption at Lord Redfern‘s place that you had found a happiness of your own. Why are you so concerned about his, when you have been separated for so long?’

He blinked. ‘I didn‘t mean - At the party, I –‘ He paused. ‘Some people are nearly impossible to forget, Dame Isabella. Whatever kind of place they had in your life, once they leave they always leave their mark on you. Some you can‘t reach again, but the ones you can... The temptation is more than you can bear.’

The sudden sincerity caught me off-guard, and I found myself thinking not only of my departed husband, but also of dozens of remarkable people who had crossed my path and irrevocably changed it, whom I would in all likelihood never meet again. ‘I‘m... familiar,’ I said jerkily.

He gave a sad smile somewhere behind his beard. ‘But it was wrong of me, to attempt to look in on his current life without his knowledge. I should move on, and let him do the same.’ He tipped his hat, to me, and said, ‘My apologies for disturbing you in your work.’

‘Dr. Carpenter,’ I said, when he turned to leave. ‘I... Don‘t really know Tom‘s feelings on the matter, aside from what little he has told me. I can‘t advice either of you one way or the other, nor is it, frankly, my place.’ I hesitated. ‘But I can tell you this: You have the remarkable luck of both being alive, and of being in the same country. You have the chance of doing what many fail to take advantage of entirely – discussing the matter in honesty. Whatever the result, I assure you that it is preferable to this state of the unknown.’

He blinked in surprise, but seemed to take it to heart. ‘I’ll... Keep that in mind. Good day, Dame Isabella.’

‘Good day, Doctor Carpenter.’

* * *

I was not as surprised as I pretended to be when, a week later, the butler came into the study where Tom and I were poring over our plans for Akhia, and announced the arrival of ‘A Dr. Carpenter, madam. He says he is here to see Mr. Wilker.’

Tom’s normally rather stoic face immediately became bewildered and, I gather, somewhat nervous. ‘How does he know I’m here?’ He muttered, seemingly to himself but loud enough that I felt I was supposed to contribute.

‘You are, most days,’ I pointed out. It wasn’t for nothing that we’d finally both given in and he now had the guest room on the ground floor all to himself. For those nights when work was too engrossing for him to make it back to his lodgings at the others side of town before he fell asleep on his feet. Especially now that we had the Akhian trip to plan. Thankfully, the gossips never got a hold of that one, or both our reputations would have been torn to shreds in the market square. For that I can only thank my staff at the time, who were impeccably professional in not feeding the gossip mill.

‘But why is he here to see me?’

‘I imagine you will find out if you speak to him,’ I said, feeling rather off-kilter. I wasn’t used to being the rational one when it came to wise or unwise decision-making. ‘Tom... If it distresses you, you do not have to speak to him. I can tell him you’re not here.’

Tom took a deep breath, and regained some of his composure. ‘I’m a grown man, Isabella, I can handle this.’

‘If you want privacy –‘

‘Now _that_ I do not know if I can handle,’ said Tom. ‘Stick around, do. I could use the moral support. Besides, I doubt he’ll say anything he shouldn’t, with you here.’

I pretended to busy myself at the table, updating our provision checklist (and truly I _did_ try my best to engross myself, but the mind tends to wander when you cannot help but hear a conversation) while Tom went to the desk to gather up some of the sensitive papers we should not leave on display. Not that I believed Dr. Carpenter would be guilty of military espionage, but our army contact would throw a fit if we left those documents lying around where anyone could read them. And I think he needed something to do, to at least appear unruffled.

Dr. Carpenter was shown to the study, his hat held in both hands as he twisted it around and around. Although he managed to keep his regular sunny disposition and give me a cheerful nod instead of the customary bow – which I did appreciate. I have never been fond of standing on ceremony. ‘Dame Isabella,’ he said.

‘Doctor,’ I said, nodding my greeting, and then returning to my task to let them get on with it.

‘Wilker,’ Dr. Carpenter began.

Tom, on the other side of the desk, gave him a wry grin. ‘Now what was it that you said about first names?’

‘Tom,’ he amended it, grinning at the rebuke. ‘I went to your lodgings, but they said you were here, most likely. And, well. I, er, heard you were going off on another expedition?’ It was strange, hearing him sound so uncertain.

‘That’s the hope,’ Tom replied. ‘Although with how it’s progressing it might not be for another year. But it’ll happen, sooner or later.’

‘Right,’ said Dr. Carpenter, with an indrawn breath.

‘I didn’t know you were back in town.’

‘No, I, uh. Was actually here for business.’ He straightened his shoulders. ‘My uncle, if you remember him, well, he’s retiring and wants me to take up his medical practice.’

Tom’s surprise was evident in his voice. ‘In Falchester?’

‘In Falchester.’

‘And you accepted? I thought you had a practice of your own back home?’ It was perhaps the first time that I had heard Tom refer to Niddey as ‘home’.

‘I did, with Gregory,’ said Dr. Carpenter.

‘The one with the squint?’

‘Yes, he was in the year –‘

‘Before us, I remember. God, was it him who –‘

‘-with the formaldehyde? You bet!’ They both laughed, and it was first then that it became clear to me how well they must have known each other – and perhaps still did. Tom had a significant period of his life which I had not shared, nor knew a great deal about, but he hadn’t been alone back then. Those memories were shared with someone else. As his friend _now_ , that realization made me quite glad.

Dr. Carpenter, still with a smile but now a shade fragile, said, ‘Well, he’s offered to buy me out. And I am intending to accept. I did not really have a reason to stay – father passed away last spring.’

Tom’s voice was low when he said, ‘God, Bill – I’m sorry. I hadn’t heard.’

‘It’s alright. So – I’ll be moving here come Seminis and to be true I don’t really know – anyone around here. I could use a friend.’ Immediately, he backtracked and went, ‘I mean, of course you are busy, and for all I know you will be leaving by the time I move here –‘

‘Bill,’ said Tom, cutting him off, but gently. ‘I’d be happy to show you around town – as your friend.’

I glanced up, unable to still my curiosity entirely, and saw Dr. Carpenter’s eyes widen, and he nodded rapidly. ‘Of course!’ On the mantle, the clock struck the hour, and he said, ‘I’m afraid I have to go – I have to meet with the landlord – but I’ll, uh, I’ll see you around?’

‘Yes. See you around, Bill.’

Dr. Carpenter bade his goodbyes, and I nodded back, continuing with the paperwork. I glanced up just a second to see Tom in deep thought behind the desk.

Eventually he said, ‘Isabella?’

‘Mm?’

‘Did you say something to him?’

I expended all of my attentions upon my work as if writing checklists were the most important task I had ever undertaken. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.’

Tom huffed something that might have been a laugh, but said nothing. Without further discussion, we went back to our planning.

* * *

I don’t know the full details of how it progressed from there; only that Dr. Carpenter was around quite a lot after that. Not all the time, and usually not while we were at work. But sometimes him and Tom would go out for drinks in town, or he would accompany him to FU sessions, at my house or elsewhere. He grew on me, quite a bit. Not only because he was almost preternaturally good-humoured and a good conversationalist, once you got used to his blunt way of speaking. But because of how obviously happy it made Tom to be around him. He was his old self, true enough, his humour wry and subtle, but there was an energy to him when they were together that drew the eye.

‘I wouldn’t have credited it,’ said Natalie to me one night, after a gathering in my study. ‘I mean, they’re so different. But somehow they fit so well.’ She had known about Tom’s preferences before me, as it turned out, simply because they moved in some of the same circles. While Natalie did not prefer women, or anyone in fact, quite a few of her dearest friends did, and it had been a matter of time before they ran into each other at the same gathering.

‘Perhaps that is why,’ I said, reshelving some of the reference books that people had not returned to their proper place. ‘They complement each other. There is no need for them to be too alike.’

‘Mm.’ Natalie sat on the settee, with a sherry glass in hand, looking mildly flushed. She was not one who could hold her drink very well. ‘I’m happy for him, whether something comes of it or not. He has a type, that man, but it did not usually last, when he found someone.’

I briefly considered the fact that Tom had apparently had an active “social life” all the years I’d known him, but discarded it, since it was not as if he had any obligation to inform _me._ Besides, for all that he was my best friend, we never really discussed such things, not in my case any more than his. In fact, that time in the study had probably been the first time - our one argument in Bayembe about my persistent suitors notwithstanding. I relayed some of these thoughts as they turned over in my head to Natalie, ending on, ‘’I’m not sure he would appreciate you telling me.’ Not that I would go around telling anyone, but a man deserved his privacy.

‘Oh, Isabella.’ The mournful tone in her voice caused me to pause and look up from my reshelving. Natalie looked at me with a complicated expression.

‘What?’ I asked, bemused.

‘Do you think he doesn’t want to tell you these things?’

I faltered. ‘Not – I mean, we never have, it’s just –‘

‘Do you not want to hear about them?’ Natalie had always been straightforward with me, because she knew it was the only thing that worked. But likely she was so all the more just then, being inebriated.

‘Of course not! Oh, that came out wrong, I mean, I _do_. I – oh, bother.’ I sat down on the settee next to her. ‘It’s just that he never used to tell me, because for one thing I did not know he liked the company of men. And I don’t resent him for not telling me!’ I added hurriedly. ‘I just, well, I don’t know how to _be_ about it, because it’s never been a part of our friendship.’

‘Well, maybe he took his cue from you,’ said Natalie gently. ‘For the time you’ve known him, most your reference to romantic matters have been rather negative.’

‘Oh, but surely he knows that’s in my own case,’ I lamented. ‘And it is not that I abhor romance, it is just that marriage will always be a restrainant on my life as I prefer to live it.’ Or so I thought, at the time.

‘I know that,’ said Natalie, who did. ‘And likely he does, too. But he may have compartmentalized it in such a way that he thought you’d rather not hear about _his_ relationships.’

‘Do you think _he_ would like to tell _me_?’ I asked, in honest inquiry.

Natalie contemplated this, and her now empty glass. ‘I think so. Because you spend more time together with each other than most other people in your lives, being colleagues. And I think, well, I don’t have any reference for it myself, but if I had another person who was that important to me, I would like to have someone I could speak to them about. And, well, Tom’s pretty private, that’s true, but that’s because there aren’t too many people he’s that close to.’

‘I just wonder if I’d be any good at it,’ I said. ‘I mean, it’s not as if _I_ know how to give any kind of romantic advice.’

‘Who says he needs advice,’ shrugged Natalie. ‘And you’re right, you’re probably not the best person to give it. But maybe he just wants to be honest about this part of his life, as your friend.’ She gestured vaguely with her glass. ‘Take all this with a grain of salt; I am quite definitely drunk.’

‘You are,’ I agreed. ‘Let me have the butler set up your old room, I’d rather not send you home this late.’

‘You’re a dear,’ she said, and leaned into my side, so that I could put my arm around her. I had missed this, sometimes, after she left. Just being in each other’s space whenever we needed to be. In many ways, I supposed I ought to let my friends closer.

* * *

It was dreadfully early in the morning, and I had in my hands a summons from Lord Rossmere that indicated that it was _finally_ time to prepare for our departure to Akhia. The meeting was not until noon, but I simply _had_ to let Tom know. And rather than pausing to have my butler prepare the carriage, I put on my coat and went out into the street to hail a cab. But when I arrived at Tom’s lodgings, I found them empty.

‘No luck, missus,’ said the landlady, a stout woman with a severely tight gray bun, who was already up and about but looked surprised that _I_ was. ‘He didn’t come in last night, I gathered he went to visit a friend, perhaps out of town.’ She said this with the philosophical indifference of one who did not care what her tenants did as long as they did not cause her trouble and paid rent on time.

Drat. I’d have to get in contact with him before the meeting, for Lord Rossmere was perfectly likely to cancel the whole affair if we were but five minutes late. But if he really had gone out of town, he would have let me know, surely? We had meant to meet in the afternoon to re-review our visa applications. Unless –

It _was_ just a hunch, but one that I felt quite confident in following.

* * *

Dr. Carpenter’s new home was located on the floor above his equally new practice. It would not be open for another hour and a half (as I said, I had received the message _terribly_ early). I paid the cab driver to wait while I went around the back and knocked on the door.

A minute or two later, the door was opened. By Dr. Carpenter himself, wearing a eyewateringly scarlet dressing gown that could have housed three lesser men, and a whole-face yawn. He looked surprised to see me, but only for a moment. ‘Dame Isabella,’ he said in a rumbling voice. Clearly it was too early in the morning for him to quite be his loud self.

‘Good morning, Dr. Carpenter. I’m terribly sorry to wake you.’

He waved a hand. ‘I was already up, I just haven’t had my coffee. You’re here for Tom?’

My hunch _had_ been right. ‘I have an urgent message for him.’

‘Do you want me to wake him? If it’s about your work, I doubt he’d want to miss it.’

I opened my mouth to say yes, but hesitated. I had never known Tom to sleep in. Perhaps I ought to let him, this rare time that he did. ‘No, I’m sure it can wait. But ask him to meet me at Lord Rossmere’s office by ten o’clock. We have an appointment there at half past, and I want to be certain we are there on time.’

‘I’ll let him know, although I doubt he’ll be able to sit still until then once I tell him.’

‘Good morning to you, Dr. Carpenter.’

‘Good morning, Dame Isabella.’ As I turned to leave, he called after me, ‘Dame Isabella?’

I turned again. ‘Yes?’

‘That advice you gave me, a few months ago. It turned out to be just the thing.’ His eyes crinkled.

I found a smile stealing across my face. ‘Don’t let me take credit for your own good sense, Doctor. Good morning to you!’

* * *

To say that Tom was in a tizzy when he arrived at the army headquarters in Falchester was a grand overstatement. But he certainly seemed rather chagrined. ‘You ought to have woken me,’ he groused, and sat down on the uncomfortable bench next to me in the foyer.

‘Nonsense, it was more than enough to have one of us up and about far too early and worrying themselves silly.’

‘That’s what Bill said,’ he replied, rolling his eyes, but good-naturedly. After a pause he asked, ‘Did my landlady tell you where to find me?’

‘No.’

‘No?’

‘I... extrapolated based on available data,’ I said, shrugging non-committally but definitely not quite hiding the mirth in my voice.

Tom scoffed. ‘Cheeky.’

But he was smiling, too.


End file.
